


The Stuff of Myth

by Xanthiae (Casstea)



Series: Of Legends, Myths and Nightmares [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Crossover, Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 07:16:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14183733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casstea/pseuds/Xanthiae
Summary: The consequences of time travel are not a simple as they first thought. When James and Lily get attacked by Voldemort in October 1981, they don't expect that their adventures to Camelot would catch up with them, or that Chaos herself would be invested in their demise.It would seem that Destiny is not finished with them yet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The sequel to the [The Stuff of Legend](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5680456/chapters/13085983). This story was first posted in c. 2010-2011, and like the last one, is being re-worked and re-written to bring out the potential that I couldn't do for it 8 years ago.
> 
> Thank you to all of those who have commented, kudosed, favourited or followed The Stuff of Legend. I hope you enjoy this sequel as much as I have enjoyed re-writing it.
> 
> NB - whilst I am trying to be as canon compliant as I can, I do start to deviate from canon in this sequel. Warnings: language.

A hand shot out of the river, grasping at the air above it.

Nobody noticed it. Not that there was anyone to notice it.

This was death, after all.

The hand was flung towards the edge of the river. It sank into the soft, grey, shoreline easily. The water rushed around the arm, threatening to remove its purchase.

A head burst free of the river water. A woman by the length of her damp hair, gasped for air. But there was no air here, so she rasped and spluttered. She wasn’t truly alive, so she didn’t really need air.

Alas, a body’s reflexes did not disappear, regardless of one’s status of life.

The woman hauled herself up the river bank. Her dress, a simple robe, stuck to her with the black gooey water that slid off her like oil. Her skin bled, dark grey blood, seeping down her arms and flowing into the ground around her hands.

She pulled herself further up the bank, each movement a struggle. She didn’t have much energy, not now. It had taken everything she had to fight through the thousands of souls who teemed near the surface of the river, wanting to break free.

Sadly, for them, they had been mere humans in the living world. Not powerful enough to break free, they would just watch from under the surface of the water, wishing they could break free from their eternal doom.

 _But I am not them,_ she thought, _I am free._

She pulled herself up the bank and sat down heavily on the grass. Her wounds began to clot up as her powers began to return slowly. She could feel the grass tickling her skin, an abrasive, course feeling which made her want to scream.

But she didn’t scream. She didn’t want to catch _his_ attention.

She looked towards the south, towards where the Line would be. You could see it from every place in this grey, afterlife world. It was the central focus, the place where you queued until the Boatman granted you the punishment of death.

She growled.

Her memories were starting to come back to her. A sister, who she had always vied for attention. A memory of a Hydra, a father with glowing red eyes.

 _My hair,_ she said, brushing her hand absently. Under her touch, they melded together into thick plaits, which then lost their form and colour. Her hair began to change, slowly condensing into thick, black strands, which began to move of their own accord. She could feel the hair slowly tug at her head, as she smiled, remembering. She could hear the faint hissing of her snakes as they came to life, slithering against her head, tugging at her scalp.

A reminder of who she was. Of the _force of nature_ that she was.

 _Medusa,_ she thought, _that was my name._

A name wasn’t important, but it was something. Something that the bitch of a sister had tried to destroy, who had cast her aside to death whilst her soul went back to life again. It was always the way, one of them was to live, the other die. Not both could exist at the same time.

A balance through constant death.

From here, she could just about make out a small boy standing in the line. It was either he was small, or his coat was huge, it dragged at his feet like the train of a gown. He looked lost, quiet, lonely, with thick black hair that hung around his face like curtains.

She could feel _her_ waiting just beyond. Even though they had been separated by their death, she could still feel her sister. After all, her sister was a force of nature as well, like the Sun or the Moon. You couldn’t just untangle yourself from a force like you could a person.

So she sat, watching the boy. It was this boy, her gut told her it was. The Line shuffled forward slowly, or fast, time in this place wasn’t constant.

Then the boy was at the front of the queue.

It was hard not to feel pity as the Boatman’s skeletal hand uncurled from beneath the thick robes, demanding payment.

Hard, but not impossible.

 _Life is nothing and then you die,_ she thought. Life, in her opinion, was overrated.

But revenge. Revenge was sweeter than anything.

The boy looked up at the Boatman with fear in his eyes.

A shard of light appeared next to the line. The dead moaned, and even Medusa had to turn her head away.

The light disappeared just as suddenly as it had appeared.

Medusa growled.

A figure, a woman with bright blonde hair and stark green eyes stood where the light had just been. She radiated life, bringing with her bright colour of whites and pastel pink skin into a world of grey. The Boatman’s head shot around, skeletal hand curling in frustration.

 _I know,_ Medusa thought towards the Boatman. Her sister could be infuriating at times.

Her sister took the boy in the overly large trench coat by the hand, pulling him out of the line. The boatman reached to grab the boy, but Cassandra merely batted his hand away like it was nothing more than an irritating fly.

That boy hadn’t died young, age in this realm was nothing. No, it was a reflection of how he saw himself, a lost, confused, scared little boy.

A flash of light engulfed Cassandra and the boy, before they disappeared, along with the light.

That boy would be nudged to stop Morgana’s plans of taking over Camelot. And it had _really_ frustrated Medusa that Morgana’s plans had been foiled. After all, her father and her had worked _tirelessly_ to make sure Morgana would cause sufficient chaos to allow them to be free once more. To be powerful. To be respected.

But Cassandra had stopped that. She always did. She meddled with time to ensure that the best outcome was found. She could see the future and predict what steps needed to happen to create the outcome she wanted.

The humans would almost call her kind, but Medusa knew better. Cassandra just wanted what _she_ thought was right. That didn’t _make_ it right.

 _You will pay, Sister,_ Medusa thought. If Cassandra’s purpose was to try and sculpt the future, Medusa’s was the opposite. The future should not be predictable, it should be hidden within the chaotic nature of time. No one should be able to predict the end game.

 _And certainly not you,_ _Sister,_ Medusa thought.

This time she didn’t have to share a body. She was her own entity, her own person now. She could run her plans by _her_ rules. She was going to sow chaos like Cassandra tried to sow order.

And she would beat her sister. She would win.

Medusa needed to find a time where Cassandra couldn’t interfere, where she could stop that little boy from completing Cassandra’s paradox. To stop Cassandra changing the past, Medusa needed that little boy to follow a different path, one that would make him choose not to walk back to life again.

If Medusa succeeded, then Time would be skewed, ripped, torn apart; and could never be fixed again. What Cassandra had done could not be undone without completely tearing up the book, allowing the world to heal naturally.

Chaotically.

Sure, there would be casualties. But those casualties were on Cassandra’s doorstep, not Medusa’s. She was simply setting the world right again. She would bring chaotic order back to the world.

 _That child, that other child,_ Medusa thought, getting up and turning her back on the Line. She could feel her powers seeping back now, now that the hands of the other souls in the river were not trying to rip her apart. And with those powers came the memories of a time she and Cassandra had shared the same body.

One of those memories held a small glimpse to the future, when Cassandra had been searching for the person she would pick on to execute her plans. Cassandra hadn’t noticed it, but Medusa had. The small boy in the orphanage, who had been lost and forgotten by the world. Vulnerable, powerless, and confused.

The perfect target.

Medusa waved her hand absently in the air, slicing a tiny through the boundary between life and death. Now she was her own being, she was more powerful than before. She could become anything, from a person to a mere shadow that crept through the air. The gap she had created was small, too tiny for the Boatman to notice, but it was large enough for her to slide through.

Colour began to seep through the gap, tumbling down like a waterfall as they coalesced across the air. The blades of grass at her feet turned green, her feet began to turn from a pale grey to a pale pink, as the snakes on her head began to turn a vibrant green. The colour felt cold, like a sharp cold of a winter breeze.

All it took was a small frown of concentration, and then Medusa’s body began to melt into smoke. The indistinct haze slipped quietly through the hole, towards the future that lay on the other side. When the last of Medusa’s form had drifted through, the doorway closed with a violent _zip_ , taking most of the colour with it.

However, one single blade of grass stayed green.

x-x-x

**Spring 1937**

Emotion was a weakness.

That was what they did not understand. Yes, everyone had emotions. Yes, emotions were part of what it meant to be _human._ Yes, they were the very thing that drove the morality of most people.

But they were oh so easy to manipulate. With emotion, you could make people dance to your tune, like a puppet who didn’t even realise their strings were being pulled.

That made them weak.

And that made Tom strong.

And he had to _always_ be strong.

The rain hammered down outside, remnants of the storm passing overhead. It was loud, almost deafening, drowning out the screams of the other children in the orphanage. Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating his small room for mere seconds. It wasn’t much, his room. You would have more room in a cupboard under the stairs, there was just enough room for a single bed, and a dresser.

Still, he was one of the only people who had his own room. But then, he had earned this room.

Tom shuffled off the end of his bed, dropping down next to the cast iron frame and digging at the back of the floor for the loose floorboard. He waited for the next rumble of thunder to pass overhead, and then pulled the floorboard loose, grabbing the small box that lay hidden beneath, and pulling it out in one swift movement.

Professor Dumbledore, whoever he was, might have chastised him about this box. But then, Professor Dumbledore didn’t understand. He didn’t understand the _power_ that you got from objects, from sentimental items. These were the items that allowed him to have his own room, that allowed him to not be disturbed.

In this box was a possession of each other person in the orphanage. He had carefully picked each item to ensure that it would give him maximum control. Important enough for the other person to leave him alone, but not important enough for them to start causing a fuss.

“Hello Tom.”

Tom leapt from his bed, box of items spilling across the mattress. His heart pounded as he spun around to see a woman standing in the small space between his wardrobe and his bed. He didn’t recognise her, she certainly wasn’t part of the orphanage.

She was mostly cloaked in shadow, apart from the flashes of light which came from the storm outside. Tom recoiled in horror as he realised the shifting mass on her head was _alive_.

“Who are you?” Tom said. His hands curled into fists, making the end of his metal bed rattle with magic. Dumbledore had said to him that it was dangerous to use magic without training.

Tom did it instinctively. And not that some stupid Professor would know any better anyway.

“You’re quite powerful aren’t you Tom?” the woman crooned, leaning down and reaching out with a long, spindly, grey finger to stroke his cheek.

Tom shivered.

“Who are you?” Tom said again. The bed rattled, this time harder.

Thunder flashed outside.

“I know a lot of things,” the woman said, standing back up to her full height, “you really are quite lucky I found you, Tom.

“Answer me,” Tom said.

The woman smiled.

“TELL ME!” Tom snarled.

A metal cup flew from his bedside table, winging its way across the room and smacking into the wall. The entire bed began to rattle, shaking as if the entire orphanage was in an earthquake.

The woman’s smile grew larger.

“Manners, manners Tom,” the woman said, moving towards the rattling bed and sitting down on it.

In an instant, it became still. Silence fell across the room.

Tom’s heart hammered in his chest. This woman was not normal. This was someone to be afraid of.

“Come say hello to my friends Tom,” the woman said, patting the bed next to her. She smoothed the wrinkled sheets in a motherly like fashion, but Tom knew that there was no caring motherly touch about it.

It was a threat. A demonstration of power.

Tom sat down next to the woman. Even from this angle she seemed tall, like the description of the angels that they would read in the Bible. Not a blessed, magical creature, but the hand of something far more powerful than any human could explain.

 _Scared Tom?_ A little voice inside his head said, _Fear is for the weak. Fear is for those who you control._

Tom snarled at the voice inside of him. Tom Riddle was never scared.

“Hello,” Tom spat at the snakes. His ability to talk to snakes was special, even for wizards, according to Dumbledore.

It was just another tool, for Tom. A tool to stay in control.

The snakes heads shot around, looking at Tom curiously. Tom forced himself to stay sat as they reached out from the woman’s head to try and get closer to Tom.

 “They like you,” the woman crooned. She stroked the snakes like Tom had seen the new woman, Mrs Gatterbridge, do to Juliette before she had been formally adopted. A calmly, mothering gesture that Tom despised.

“Who are you?” Tom pushed.

“Curious,” the woman said, ignoring Tom’s question and bending down the floor where Tom’s box lay, contents strewn over the floor.

 “Don’t touch my box,” Tom hissed.

“Tom, Tom,” the woman said, shaking her head. The snakes hissed and spat at Tom, threatening him to try his luck further.

Tom shook with anger as the woman picked up the box, turning it around in her hands. He resisted the urge to try and strike out with magic, to maim this woman before she could go through any more of his things.

They were _his._ This room was _his._ How _dare_ she come in here and threaten what was _his._

“You’re going to need to trust me Tom,” the woman said, picking up one of the fallen possessions from the box, a small wooden yo-yo, and _plopping_ it into the box.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” she said, picking up another item, a feather, and putting it into the box, “I’m here to help you.”

Tom watched carefully as she picked up each item and placed it back in the box. He would have to reorder them when the woman left, back into their proper order.

Another flash of lighting lit up the room. The roar of the thunder rumbling shook the thin glass window in its frame. Tom shivered.

The woman picked up the final item and put it into the box. She held it out to Tom.

“What do you want?” Tom asked, snatching the box out of her hands and clutching the box tightly to his chest, “I’ve already talked to Professor Dumbledore.”

“Tom, Tom,” the woman said, looking directly into Tom’s eyes, “you are special, far more special than anyone in this home, or even at that school your _Professor Dumbledore_ talked about. I’m here to help you become great.”

“I don’t want to be famous,” Tom sneered, “I want to have _revenge_.”

“Tom,” the woman said one of her hands cupping his chin lightly. Tom tried to flinch away, but the claw-like hand clutched on to his skin, not letting go.

“You will be feared Tom,” the woman said, seeing her words light up desire and hunger within the boy’s eyes, “you will be the greatest wizard of all time.”

The door opened suddenly, as a large and very drunk woman looked into the room. Her hair was askew, uncared for, her clothes and apron were stained and unkept. She was Mrs Cole, or as she liked the children to call her _Auntie Marge_.

Tom’s eyes widened in horror as Mrs Cole’s eyes scanned the room, her mouth twisting in confusion. Tom could see that the woman lent of the door too heavily, her balance skewed by the alcohol.

“Leave me be,” Tom hissed, lacing his words with magic. Mrs Cole’s eye flickered blank, absently gazing at nothing, before she backed out of the room again, shutting the door behind her.

“They can’t see me Tom,” the woman said, looking at the door which Mrs Cole had just shut.

“Then why can I see you?” Tom questioned forcefully.

“Because you’re special Tom,” the woman said, patting his hair in a caring fashion, “because I want to help you.”

“I don’t need help,” Tom sneered, as he tried to stand up from the bed.

A white hand curled around his shoulder. The woman smiled, a horrible, powerful smile that told Tom he had no other options.

“I won’t make my offer again,” the woman said. There was no hint in her voice that it was anything other than a demand.

“I... I would like your help,” Tom stuttered, clenching his box so tight that the cardboard collapsed under the force, the box squashing flat.

“Good,” the woman said, letting go of Tom’s shoulder, “I’m glad we’ve come to an understanding.”

Tom fought the urge to reach up and touch his shoulder. The woman had dug her hand in hard enough to leave a mark, no doubt, and her nails _hurt._

“So if I’m to work with you,” Tom whispered, staring at the crumpled remains of his box of special items on his lap, “what am I to call you?”

“You may call me, Nagini,” the woman replied.

x-x-x

**Spring 1981**

People, Tom found, were disappointing.

“Please my lord,”

Take Severus Snape. A man whose feelings seemed to cloud his judgement. Although even Tom wasn’t sure if they would qualify as feelings, Severus seemed to have a habit of latching onto whatever cause gave him purpose until he found a new one.

But still, he was useful.

However, that didn’t mean Tom couldn’t make an example of him.

“You wish to save _her?_ ” he hissed, “for love?”

Tom almost laughed as Severus looked up at him, white with fear. He reached out gently, touching the edges of Severus’ mind with his own. He could feel the pain, the hatred, the anger, the guilt.

“No, no my lord,” Severus stuttered. Tom could feel the fear warping its way around Severus’ brain. The man was truly terrified.

Good.

“I am disappointed Severus,” Tom said. And he was, very disappointed. Severus had such potential and such vigour for their cause, and yet, _something_ seemed to stop him from fully committing.

“Look at me,” Tom said, gesturing with his wand. He forced Severus’ head upwards so he could look directly into the whites of his eyes. It was always the eyes, the locked gaze, that they feared most. Severus was barely in his twenties, and yet-

Resistance. Just a little. The flicker of Severus’ eyes, the push against Tom’s search through the man’s brain.

All over a mud-blood named Lily Potter.

“I never thought you would _desire_ a mud-blood,” Tom sneered. It was unbecoming, truly, for some with such potential to waste it on some _thing_ which was, well, beneath them.

“De...Desire my Lord?” Severus’ voice quivered as he answered, hands wringing together with nerves, “I wish to get revenge on _Potter_.”

The way Severus spat the word was enough for Tom. It was this hatred, the pure, unblinding hatred that Tom needed from Severus. He needed it to consume Severus, to drive him. This was the person he had recruited, the potential he saw.

“Then you will get revenge when she dies,” Tom said, tilting his wand to raise Severus’ head higher, just high enough to start hurting the neck but not enough to break it.

“B...But my Lord-” Severus croaked. He was struggling to breathe.

Good.

“You _defy me_?” Tom whispered, pulling up with his wand. Now Severus was hovering off the floor, the entire weight of his body being held by his vertebrae. It wouldn’t be long before the weight became too much, an inch or two higher-

“Death would be too easy for him Tom,” Nagini said. Tom resisted the urge to ignore Nagini, releasing Severus with a disgusted hand gesture.

Severus could not hear or see Nagini, as she had cloaked herself in magic that even Tom could not understand. He fell to the ground, clawing at his neck as he rasped for air. Nagini stepped forward, peering down at Severus, her snakes hissing with interest on her head.

“What do we do with him?” Tom asked, “he’s disobeyed-”

“He is scared of you, Tom,” Nagini said, turning to face Tom and smiling, “we all know how powerful that can be, don’t we?”

A threat. It was always threats with Nagini.

And rightfully so.

“Yes,” Tom replied, gesturing with his hand at Severus. He didn’t even need to speak the spell, just gesture, and Severus was sent flying across the road.

Now outside the dome of magic, Tom watched with satisfaction as Severus struggled to stand up in the hammering rain. He cut a pathetic, almost desperate figure.

 _Disappointing,_ Tom thought.

“You,” Tom shouted to Severus over the rain, “ _will_ do your job. I will deal with the Potters, you and Bellatrix will deal with the Longbottoms? Do I make myself clear?”

Severus struggled to stand up, head still bowed.

“Do I?” Tom bellowed.

Severus looked up, hatred in his eyes. He nodded, just once, before apparating away.

 _Good,_ Tom thought. There were two babies that needed to die, two babies that could destroy him.

“Now,” Nagini whispered, “are you going to fulfil your destiny?”

Yes, that destiny. It was all Nagini had ever hammered into him, especially in the early years. Destiny was all controlling, it was the thing that wrote history, it was the thing that made you _immortal._

And for that, the boy born on the 31 July had to die.

 _Two babies, two plans,_ Tom thought. It would mean that the prophecy could _never_ be fulfilled.

“Wormtail!” Tom screamed.

A sharp _pop_ indicated that Wormtail had successfully apparated into the protective bubble. Compared to Severus, Wormtail was nothing more than the rat his Animagus form took. It was amazing how naïve his friends were, considering his Animagus was a _rat_ of all things.

Still, their foolishness was Tom’s gain. And tonight, he was going to destroy the prophesy and become _immortal_.

“Wormtail,” Tom hissed, “it is time you showed me where your little friends where hiding.”

Wormtail didn’t even raise his eyes to Tom. His whole body shook with fear, pure and utter terror combined with cowardice that was imbued into his very soul. It was amazing how easy people broke when you made them fear you. Wormtail, it had only taken a few days of torture to convince that his life was more important than his friends’.

“This...This way my Lord,” Wormtail said, apparating into nothingess. Nagini reached out and snatched a piece of air from where Wormtail stood.

“This is where you need to go,” she hissed into Tom’s ear. Tom shivered, taking the piece of latent magic and feeling it between his fingers. It glowed slightly, just slightly, showing the imprint of a memory, a place he needed to go.

Godric’s Hollow.

“Go,” Nagini said, “go and create your destiny.”

Tom nodded, snapping his fingers and apparating to the place Wormtail had shown him.

There was much to be done, before they could strike properly. The plans had to be executed perfectly to work. That meant this visit was nothing more than a reconnaissance mission.

The actual attack would be far, far worse.

x-x-x

**October 1981**

“We’re going to kill them! We’re going to kill them!”

Severus glared at Bellatrix, as she twirled and spun her way down the street, firing off spells into the night. The raindrops refracted the light, acting like tiny lenses, causing the flash of the spell light to be brighter. It was still raining down heavily, although the weather did not seem to dampen Bellatrix’s spirits. She happily twirled her way through the weather, her feet kicking up the puddles as she gleefully pranced to their destination.

They were _supposed_ to be approaching the Longbottom’s house _quietly_. However, Severus doubted they would ever be any such thing as silence when Bellatrix was around, her loud cackle reverberating off every object. Now she was even more excited as the prospect of inflicting death and pain taking her to new heights of happiness.

 _Voldemort would be near Lily now,_ Severus thought. It hurt, it _really_ hurt that Voldemort would not spare her. The others thought his “infatuation” with Lily was pointless. A mud-blood, beneath him.

He wasn’t infatuated, he was in _love,_ and those fools refused to recognise it.

Crouch walked quietly next to Severus, a silent mad man. Severus didn’t really like the man much – the deprived childhood from his father and the power that Voldemort had offered him as a Death Eater had pushed and pulled Crouch’s mind to the brink of breaking. Crouch wasn’t like Bellatrix, who revelled in dealing out pain and suffering to others. Crouch was power hungry like his father, and would do anything to win Voldemort’s favour.

 _Useless,_ Severus thought, as Bellatrix continued to dance down the road towards the Longbottom’s house, blasting the protective spells away with a flick of her wand.

It was with the company of these people that Severus knew his plan would work. Madness usually led to a level of impulsiveness that was easy to control.

He wasn’t supposed to get involved, Voldemort had made that clear. Severus was too surgical in his approach, Bellatrix and Crouch would leave a more lasting impression on their attack. Severus was to observe, control, and report, like some sort of animal handler with two wild beasts under his control.

Part of him hoped that the Order would turn up, Dumbledore at their lead, and save the day. It would be easier if he died, it would stop the nagging thoughts in his head that this was wrong.

Nothing was wrong. It was just power. You aligned yourself to the winning side to avoid being crushed. It was a simple act of _survival._

“We’re going to kill them,” Bellatrix said with glee, twirling her wand in her fingers as she blasted another protective spell away. He could see the lights in the house switching on now, her noise waking up the occupants.

Sheer luck that this boy was also born on the 31 of July. Sheer luck that this meant he was a target of Voldemort’s ire before he had even learnt to speak properly.

Like Lily’s child. The Potter boy.

 _He’s going to kill Lily,_ Severus thought.

“Thinking, Severus?” Crouch whispered, manic smile on his face, “that’s always dangerous. Second thoughts?”

“Never,” Severus snapped. Crouch was a mad bastard, but he was cunning. A threat, if not controlled.

“That’s their house,” Crouch said darkly, grinning with his wand held loosely in his hand. Severus slowed his step down a bit, allowing Bellatrix and Crouch to go in front of him. He wasn’t stupid – he knew that both Frank and Alice Longbottom would put up a fight initially. However, Bellatrix and Crouch were under orders not to leave until they had been incapacitated.

Bellatrix got to the boundary of the house, flicking curses this way and that like muggle fireworks. They shot into the protective shields, ricocheting off into the night and along the pathway behind her.

“You can’t stop me,” Bellatrix sung, as she pranced this way and that, shooting curses at particular points of the boundary where the shield had been anchored. Whilst insane, Bellatrix did know a thing or two about beating shield and protective charms.

 _Come on,_ Severus thought, eyeing the lights which were flickering on in the house and the shouts from inside.

Suddenly, one of Bellatrix’s curses hit its mark. The air around the house warped as the shield disintegrated.

Severus muttered the anti-apparating spell under his breath, pointing his wand towards the house. The spell shot out the end of his wand and struck in the centre of the door, crawling outwards like an army of ants, covering the house in a web of magic.

There was no-where to go now.

“Can’t stop me,” Bellatrix screamed euphorically, walking up to the front door. Severus had his wand at the ready, allowing Crouch to stay in front of him.

“Mormordre!” Crouch shouted, his ‘r’ rolling with his accent, as he shot the Dark Mark into the sky.

“Subtle,” Severus muttered.

Bellatrix and Crouch took little work of the door, stepping inside and battling with the occupants inside.

The Longbottoms were nobody’s, just unfortunate to have a child born on the 31 July. Voldemort’s hatred was unreasoning, unrelenting, and illogical. They were in the wrong place, wrong time, just caught in the cross fire.

The screams were almost deafening, and Severus almost thought to cast a deafening spell on himself so he couldn’t hear them.

 _If you do that you’re no less human than him,_ a voice warned.

So, Severus stood at the door, standing guard, listening to the tortured screams of Frank and Alice Longbottom.

When Bellatrix and Crouch were done with them, they would be lucky to be dead.

x-x-x

Time passed so quickly when you were a parent, Lily thought. It was always just out of your grasp, never quite slow enough to memorise every moment properly.

“I think it’s bed-time now,” Lily said seriously.

Harry looked up at her from the floor with his big, green, eyes, lip wobbling. His toy broomstick hovered above him, his favourite present from his birthday.

 “Look how sad he is,” James said, also sitting on the floor, wand sticking haphazardly behind his ear.

“You know what the nurses said about a normal routine,” Lily said, bending down to scoop Harry up in her arms, “Quidditch training can wait until tomorrow.”

James looked like he was going to disagree, but Lily stared him down. She did _not_ want another sleepless night where Harry refused to sleep because he had been kept up for too long. It was hard enough being a parent with the little sleep they _did_ get, let alone messing with Harry’s sleep schedule.

“Quidditch training will wait until tomorrow,” James said, standing up and stretching. His wand fell out from behind his ear, bouncing onto the sofa.

 _We really need a bigger house,_ Lily thought, _when we have any more children_.

Godric’s hollow was cosy. It was perfect for a young couple like them to start out in life, and even then they were lucky they had an entire _house_. But that was James’ parents who helped them out on that, In-laws of the _year_ not just with that but how supportive they had been when Harry had come along.

“We’re getting heavier aren’t we?” James said to Harry, tickling his tummy.

Harry responded by wrapping a small hand around James’ hair and pulling on it hard.

“Owwww,” James said, disentangling Harry’s hand from his hair, and rubbing his head violently. Lily giggled.

“Maaaa,” Harry said, looking towards Lily, waving his arms around. That was his version of a hug.

Lily smiled.

Motherhood, whilst hard, was more than special. Sure, like everything, there were trying times, but it was the little moments when Harry smiled at her that made it worth it.

“Come on then,” Lily said, holding him close as she turned out of the lounge. James was still muttering violently whilst rubbing his head.

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” Lily said, smiling, “Harry’s only small.”

“It still _hurt_ ,” James grumbled dramatically.

Lily laughed, James was always dramatic to get her to laugh. It was what she loved about him.

“You can manage being an illegal Animagus, defeating a Hydra, and time travel, but your son pulling your hair is too much?” Lily chided, walking up the stairs.

“Something like that,” James muttered, “I do sometimes wonder what Arthur and Merlin are up to now?”

“Read a history book,” Lily said, “best bit about time travel is that it’s now our history. It’ll all be recorded in some edicts somewhere.”

“You know how I feel about history books,” James remarked, “besides, they always leave out the good bits.”

“You can’t remember _everything,_ ” Lily said, “and besides, they’re now what, the stuff of legends – even those books we have aren’t accurate now. But anyway, it’s time for bed for Harry.”

At the word ‘bed’, Harry’s lip stuck out and began to wobble violently.

“I’ll read you a story,” James said, bending down to Harry’s eye level, “the one about the four friends who could turn into animals.”

“Bahhhh!” Harry said, waving his arms in approval.

“Come on then,” Lily said, smiling at the doting gaze James was giving Harry.

There was a knock at the door.

Lily looked at James.

 _No, not him, not here, not now,_ she thought.

“No-one should know,” Lily whispered, pulling Harry close to her, “ _no-one._ ”

“Take Harry,” James said, grabbing his wand from the sofa and pressing a kiss against Lily’s forehead, “take him upstairs – apparate out of here.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Lily said.

“Protect Harry, Lily,” James said, “go, now.”

There was another knock at the door. This one was more forceful.

Lily grabbed Harry, pulling him tight against her chest.

“Don’t die on me,” Lily whispered, pressing a kiss to James’ lips, “don’t you fucking _dare_.”

“I promise,” James said, tapping his wedding ring, “we said forever, yeh?”

The front door bust in.

Lily screamed in shock, Harry burst into tears.

“Take Harry!” James screamed at Lily, pushing her towards the stairs, “get out of here!”

Lily scrambled up the stairs, glancing over her shoulder at the towering figure stepped into her house. She could see the pale face, the cloak, the stick thin, pale hand which reached out from under the robes.

The man who needed no introduction. Voldemort himself.

James squared himself up against the Dark Lord himself, wand raised.

“RUN!” James shouted.

Lily turned, running up the stairs, pulling Harry tight against her.

“James Potter, I presume?” she heard Voldemort say. A flash of light in the corner of her eye, followed by the loud crash of cabinet.

She turned around at the edge of Harry’s room. Voldemort stepped over the remains of the cabinet dresser that stood in the hallway, brushing off the debris.

“You can’t defeat me James Potter,” Voldemort said, his wand arm raising.

“NO!” Lily screamed.

The world exploded.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update!
> 
> For all those "how long does it take you to write?" questions, note at the end.

James had never thought how he would die.

“James Potter, I presume?” the inhuman corpse that was Voldemort hissed at James, as he stepped into the threshold of his property.

This bastard shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t even _know_ it was here. The fact that Voldemort was standing in front of him, skin drawn and eyes that spoke of such severe hatred of all things that it made James shiver in disgust just looking at him.

It had to be Peter. Voldemort had somehow got to Peter.

Peter had betrayed them.

 _Think about it later,_ he thought to himself. He was not going to die here, he was not going to leave Lily a widow and Harry fatherless.

 _Screw you, Voldemort,_ James thought as he took a step backwards towards the stairs.

His heart beat wildly as Voldemort took another step closer. He had seen many things in his life, hell he had travelled through _time_ and fought a seven headed hydra.

But this wasn’t just terror or fear. This was war, and war took lives. He had been to far too many funerals, heard of far too many deaths to not be familiar with the concept.

But Voldemort wasn’t just a Hydra, Voldemort was death itself embodied. He brought death where he walked, he brought _war_ where he walked.

And James didn’t want to die. He hadn’t really considered his own death. There had been a moment in 6th year when they had tried to all divine how they would each die, but that had been a night fuelled by firewhiskey and Remus’ grim expectation that he would die young because of his lycanthropy.

 _Lily and Harry_ , he thought, backing up against the bottom step of the stairs. He conjured the image of his wife and his son, sitting upstairs, waiting for their visit from Voldemort.

“You can’t defeat me James Potter,” Voldemort said, his wand arm raising.

“NO!” Lily screamed from behind him.

 _Not_ today, he thought. They _wouldn’t_ die, Harry was not going to die an orphan, James wouldn’t _allow_ for it.

James snarled at Voldemort, launching a curse of his own at Voldemort. The two curses hit at an angle, smashing into one another coalescing into a ball of white-

James threw himself to the stairs, away from the bright light as the bang reverberated through the house. It sounded like a like a firecracker had gone off, smashing the glass in the picture frames and shaking James’ head like he had drunk five firewhiskeys in one go.

The light dimmed.

James pushed himself back up to standing again, looking up at Lily at the top of the stairs, frozen in shock.

 _Not today,_ he thought. He could just about see, and that was good enough. He wasn’t dying today.

“GO!” He shouted, turning around to face Voldemort. Frustratingly, he did not seemed as affected by the shock as James, but his movements were a little wobbly.

 _You are mortal then,_ James thought, _I can beat mortal._

“Get out,” James said, surprised at the confidence in his voice. But then, an animal cornered was always a dangerous beast.

 _Wait_ , James thought. He didn’t need to duel Voldemort, just take him off his guard, get the bastard out of his house. Then they could get to the portkey and get to Sirius’ flat and then work out what the hell they were going to do. Sirius had what he liked to call a “muggle backup plan”, and whilst James didn’t want to ask where he had got the muggle IDs from, it could buy them enough time to get Harry safe.

Even Dumbledore didn’t know of that particular plan.

“Any last words, Potter?” Voldemort said, grinning with delight as he raised his wand.

James acted on instinct. He gestured to the kitchen with his wand, levitating the knife block and throwing it towards Voldemort.

Voldemort threw a curse at him, but James dodged it. The knifes flew through the kitchen door, distracting Voldemort enough as he battered the knives away with a wave of his hand.

Before he hit the floor, James turned around, threw himself to the floor and shifted into his animagus form.

He knew his stag form wouldn’t give him much space to manoeuvre, but it would be not something Voldemort expected. And as a stag he could literally throw Voldemort out of the house with more power than his human force could, not with a charge but with a solid kick of his back legs.

Voldemort didn’t have a time to react as Prongs planted his front legs into the ground, thrashing out with a solid back kick and hitting Voldemort square in the chest.

Finally, the hours of tests as to just how much stronger an animagus form was to the actual animal paid off.

James switched back before Voldemort had even hit the ground, spinning around and picking up his wand from the floor where he had dropped it. He could see Voldemort getting up in the garden, and with a flick of his wrist he summoned the door shut and with another gesture sent every piece of furniture to barricade the door.

At least their house was apparition proof, that they had to thank Dumbledore for. The only way Voldemort was getting in was if he came through the door.

James pulled out one of the kitchen knives from the door, and stood at the bottom of the stairs, waiting.

No one was getting to his family, not today.

x-x-x

Arthur moved in the direction of the scream, pulling his sword out before he even registered what he was doing.

He came to the edge of the park, hitting what looked like to be some kind of road, although it was made from a strange black material that Arthur didn’t recognise. It certainly wasn’t stone, it _definitely_ wasn’t gravel.

 _Not now,_ he said, as another flash of light flew into the sky. They weren’t far away, just round the corner-

Arthur stopped in his tracks at the end of the road. A figure stood outside one of the houses, casting flashes of light into the house.

Another scream came from within.

“Cassandra said that James and Lily could die-” Merin started.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, setting off in the direction of the woman’s scream, drawing his sword as he did so.

A shaft of light blasted past Arthur, firing into the figures who was stood outside the house. The body went catapulting through the sky, crashing down further down the road.

Silence.

Then a second figure came hurtling out of the house.

“The second one,” Arthur said, striding towards the house. The second figure’s hood fell away as it, no, _he,_ raised his wand towards Arthur and fired a blast of lime green light towards Arthur-

“Mundbyrdan!” Merlin screamed. Arthur braced himself as the light came hurtling towards him, before bouncing off an invisible shield and hurtling into the sky above.

“You dare!” the figure screamed at them both, firing another curse at Arthur, which bounced off the protective shield Merlin had thrown up.

Arthur raised his sword at the figure. The man who stared back at Arthur looked as evil as any of the enemies Arthur had faced across the battlefield. But this one had a maniacal smile that spoke of someone with power and no compassion. A tyrant, bent on making the world in his shape and will.

Arthur hated those kind of people.

Merlin hated them more.

Arthur flinched Merlin let out a stream of pure white magic, twisting and crackling past him as it dove towards it’s victim – the figure. The figure tried to shoot a spell in response, but Merlin was not _Merlin_ for nothing.

The figure was sent hurtling backwards down the road, crashing into the ground a good three hundred yards away from them.

“I hate people like that,” Merlin growled, visibly shaking from rage.

“Nice performance,” a voice said behind them.

Arthur spun into a fighting crouch, lunging in the direction of the voice. Above him, a shard of blue light fired over his head, hitting what should have been a head squarely in the middle of their nose.

Then Arthur realised his sword was just cutting through air, jarring his arm as there was no resistance to his move.

The image coalesced back from wisps of light into the shape of a person. Arthur looked up at the grinning face of Medusa, complete with her head of snakes hissing in delight round her cheekbones.

“You,” he grumbled.

“It really is a good performance,” Medusa said, stepping back and brushing herself down from where Arthur’s sword had supposedly pierced her. It was move to rile him, and it worked. Arthur could feel the urge to swing his sword across her throat.

“Leave these people alone,” Merlin said, his voice leaving no room for negotiation.

Medusa grinned.

“You’re here because Cassandra sent you?” she said.

Arthur and Merlin both stayed silent.

“Ha!” Medusa barked, “she thinks she can control me from the _past?_ She thinks she can stop me, sending you forward in time? She calls herself the one who rights the wrong, but she is nothing more than chaos.”

Arthur could feel the venom in Medusa’s voice as she spoke about Cassandra, it was the same sound that he heard people of magic speak about his father. The hatred was something that was so strong it would drive anyone to do _anything,_ so long as the target for that hatred suffered or failed.

For those who hated his Father, it was attacks on Camelot and her people. For Medusa, it was ensuring that Cassandra’s attempt to stop his sister usurping his Father, killing him and destroying his and Merlin’s future Destiny failed. And that meant she had to kill those who had helped them survive last time.

“You can try and stop me,” Medusa said, stepping forward and staring at Arthur intently, “but this time, this time I have tasted death and I refuse to have my soul ripped apart in my sister’s name _again_.”

“Back off,” Merlin growled. Arthur could see Merlin’s eyes glint a dangerous golden as he was preparing his magic.

“Emrys,” Medusa said, “even someone of your power cannot threaten me. You can’t stop me, in fact you don’t need to stop _me_.”

“What?” Merlin said.

Medusa grinned. She looked like a child with a secret, pure chaos who just _wanted_ to ensure things didn’t run to the rules she didn’t agree with.

“Cassandra didn’t free you, her helper did. And she can’t control her helper, _you_ can’t control her helper.”

“Who?” Arthur asked, confused.

“I just need her helper to hate himself enough so he wishes for the sweet release of death,” Medusa grinned with unabashed glee, “I need him to want to die so that when he does, he crosses the river and Cassandra can’t mess with my plans in the past anymore.”

With that, she disappeared.

A green light shot over Arthur’s shoulder.

“You fight me?” the tyrant screamed, blood snaking down the man’s neck from where Merlin had thrown him to the ground a few moments before.

“Leave,” Merlin ordered, eyes glowing gold and holding his hand up. Golden light flew from his finger tips, spinning into thicker threads that weaved up into the sky. More and more threads of gold light spun into the outline of a dragon which stood almost twice as tall as Arthur, golden head rearing into the sky and letting out a bellowing roar.

It was a spell that Merlin liked to use before he used something that would cause _actual_ damage. Nine times out of ten, the opposition would flee before challenging Merlin to a real battle of magic.

The tyrant looked up at the dragon, and then back down at Merlin.

“Leave,” Merlin said, his voice amplified by magic.

“You will not defeat me!” the tyrant screamed, before _popping_ out of existence.

Merlin lowered his hand, letting the golden dragon disappear into the night air. The gold threads dissolved into hundreds of tiny flecks of gold, like fireflies, which disappeared high into the cloudy night sky.

“You should really think about making a different animal sometimes,” Arthur said. He could feel the rush of the battle begin to leave him as he sheathed his sword once more. The silence that fell across the street was a welcome, a sign that they were safe, for now.

Merlin glared at him.

“What do you think could be more terrifying than a _dragon?”_ Merlin said. Arthur could tell that Merlin was shaken, he always was when there was a possibility of killing someone with magic. Just because Merlin was powerful, just because he _could_ kill with magic, didn’t mean Merlin enjoyed it.

Arthur knew that, which was why he always tried to make Merlin laugh after a battle, no matter how big.

“Seven headed hydra?” Arthur said.

Merlin grinned.

“Make that your emblem first,” Merlin said, “then I’ll consider it.”

Arthur grinned, his gaze turning to the front of the house that the tyrant man had walked out of before attacking Arthur and Merlin.

“Do you think?” Merlin asked quietly.

“Let’s go and find out,” Arthur said, walking towards the house. He hoped he didn’t find bodies. He hoped whoever the tyrant had tried to attack was still alive.

He hoped they weren’t to save James, Lily, Sirius and Remus. He hoped they weren’t too late to save themselves.

Severus waited with Bellatrix for the return of Voldemort. The rain hammered around them, hitting Severus’ head with a relentless drumbeat that was almost therapeutic. The drumbeat drowned out the memories of the Longbottom’s screams. The drumbeat stopped the thoughts racing through his head that he had made the wrong choice. That his _life_ was the wrong choice.

Crouch had gone already. He hadn’t been ordered back here, and by all accounts he had gone to find himself a pub to get drunk in. That was his way of celebrating what he called a successful day.

It made Severus sick.

There was a point which you did not cross, a point where you did not return from. People would call Severus evil for being a death eater, for being _with_ Voldemort. But Severus considered that it took guts to just stand next to Bellatrix, whose clothes were splattered with Alice Longbottom’s blood, and not run fleeing. He was here because he had no other choice, that was it. Anyone else would choose to do the same.

It was almost amusing that Peter Pettigrew, one of the men who had bullied Severus at Hogwarts, who had hidden behind James Potter and Sirius Black, was helping Voldemort. It was also the thing that made Severus want to wring the little man’s neck until he turned purple. _He_ had held Lily’s trust, _he_ had been part of their group, he had been able to _still talk to Lily_.

And he had thrown it away because he was a coward. His cowardice meant that _Lily_ was as good as dead.

When he was free of Voldemort, when he had a few moments in a quiet room with Peter Pettigrew, Severus was going to make that man pay for everything.

 _Pop_.

 _Speak of the devil,_ Severus thought, as the small fat shame of Peter Pettigrew appeared on the street in front of them.

Pettigrew struggled on the stones. His face was covered in bruises, his lip was split, and one of his eyes were almost swollen shut. It was as if he had been beaten up, or at least dropped from a great height on his fat, small, insignificant little head.

 _Shame,_ Severus thought, _I could have done that for free._

 _Pop_.

Lord Voldemort appeared.

Severus could feel Voldemort’s Legilimency as soon as he had finished apparating. It was like a constant pressure on his mind, like a vice, pressing inwards on Severus’ occlumency. There was never any let-up when Voldemort was present. He was always looking for weakness in his followers.

 _“Crucio!”_ Voldemort hissed, flicking out his wand.

Pettigew screamed as his body contorted in pain. Severus forced his face not to show the grin as Pettigew withered in excruciating pain on the wet pavement in front of him.

With another flick of his wand, Voldemort removed the spell. Pettigrew fell still, face to the pavement, his breathing ragged.

“There were others,” Voldemort hissed at Pettigrew, striding up to him, tucking his toes under the man, before flicking him over so Pettigrew was looking at him.

Severus’ ears pricked up.

 _What,_ he thought. This wasn’t just Voldemort disappointed at Pettigrew. This was Voldemort enraged, this was Voldemort at his chaotic, murdering best.

 _Lily might be alive_ , he thought. He could feel the hope rise in his chest. He might not have to exact his revenge on Pettigrew after all.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Voldemort said, shooting another _cruico_ curse at Pettigrew. Pettigrew clawed at his throat, unable to speak as he struggled for air.

The man couldn’t answer; instead he withered on the ground, clutching his throat as if there were an invisible hand clamped around it.

Voldemort dropped the spell. Pettigrew gasped for air.

“I...didn’t...know...M’Lord,” he spluttered

“Really?” Voldemort hissed, bending down to put his face mere centimetres from Pettigrew’s, shaking the robe from his free hand and placing it on Pettigrew’s forehead “ _Really?_ I think you’re lying, aren’t you Peter?”

Severus felt Voldemort’s legilimency, stop pressing against his mind for a moment.

Pettigrew screamed as Voldemort read his mind.

“You really didn’t know?” Voldemort said, almost absently, digging his fingers into Pettigrew’s, “ _Really_?”

“I didn’t know!” Pettigrew screamed, sobbing in pain, “they were supposed to be alone!”

Voldemort dropped Pettigrew’s head from his hand. Pettigrew fell limp to the street.

“Severus,” Voldemort called.

Severus felt the full focus of Voldemort’s legilimency slam into his mind as Voldemort turned to face Severus.

“What did he do?” Bellatrix said feverishly, “we can get them, I promise my Lord-”

“Silence, Bellatrix,” Voldemort said holding up his hand.

Bellatrix fell silent. However, Severus could feel the excitement rolling off Bellatrix, she had already had her first taste of torture today, she wanted more.

“Severus,” Voldemort said, gesturing with his hand.

Severus stepped closer to Voldemort.

“You begged to save Lily Potter didn’t you?” Voldemort said, reaching out and grabbing Severus forcefully by the chin, “you still love her?”

It took all of Severus’ might not to break under Voldemort’s legilimency whilst holding Voldemort’s gaze.

“Yes,” he replied. He couldn’t lie to Voldemort, there was no benefit. Too many people knew about his affection for Lily at Hogwarts, it was just a _fact_.

“Good,” Voldemort said, releasing Severus’ chin, “then you would be pleased to hear that she is still alive.”

Severus felt his heart skip a beat.

Voldemort grinned.

“I have a task for you Severus,” Voldemort said.

“What is it, my Lord?” Severus asked, bowing his head in deference.

 _She is alive, somehow she is alive_ , he thought.

“Someone stopped me killing Harry Potter today,” Voldemort said, “someone _else_ who I have never seen before. I want you to find out who they are, I want you to befriend your darling Lily Evans-”

“Yes?” Severus said, looking back up at Voldemort. There was more, there was something missing.

“Then,” Voldemort leaned close, and whispering in Severus’ ear, “I want you to kill Harry Potter.”

x-x-x

Lily sat with her back pressed against the door, hugging Harry closely to her.

 _Please no,_ she thought trying to get her breath back. She could feel the sheer fear still pounding through her body, the sound echoing in the silence that now came from downstairs.

Her eyes hurt, the light, _Merin’s beard_ it had been bright. Too bright.

Harry whimpered into her shoulder, and Lily rocked him gently to try and soothe him. It didn’t work, Lily didn’t expect it too, Harry was picking up on her own stress.

Voldemort had found them. _Peter_ had betrayed them.

 _Come on,_ Lily thought to herself, pushing herself to her feet. She couldn’t hear sounds of a fight downstairs, not after the huge _bang_ earlier. She didn’t even want to look out of the door, she didn’t want to even _think_ about the worst.

Mumbling a combination of the strongest door and barrier spells she could on the door, Lily stepped into the centre of the room. She wouldn’t have long, they would have to get to the portkey at the end of the garden first, but at least they could warn Sirius of their impending arrival.

Harry moved against Lily’s chest, trying to grab her hair tightly with his tiny fists. Sticking her wand into her hair, she propped Harry on her shoulder with one hand, whilst pulling out the top drawer of the cabinet which sat next to Harry’s bed. Inside sat a small black notebook, with a pen strapped to the top of it.

Lily flipped open the book, writing with a scrawl that would have even put James’ handwriting to shame.

_Sirius. He’s found us. If we’re not with you in thirty minutes, come get us._

She flipped the book shut as the letters began to bleed into the page. The spell would allow the words to appear on an identical book that Sirius had. At least that way he would know what was going on.

She shoved the book back in the drawer, kicking it shut with her foot. Then, taking her wand out of her hair, she stood facing the door of the bedroom. She was the last line of defence for Harry, and she’d be dammed if she wasn’t going down without a fight.

 _We’re not dying today,_ she thought, _not on my watch_.

x-x-x

Merlin approached the house with caution.

He could sense the disruption in the magic in the air. There had been powerful spells put over the house to protect it, but now they lay in tatters in the air around him. The gate at the front of the front garden hang off its hinges from where the tyrant had hit it when he had been thrown out of the house. The flowers were withered with the evil magic that had been shot in the area. There was just a grim air of violence that hung around the place.

“They’re not expecting us,” Arthur said, holding his hand on his sword, “you think you can hold them off, if they think we’re with _him_?”

Merlin nodded. He approached the door slowly, hand held out to hold a small magical shield in front of him and Arthur. It was a type of shield that would absorb the impact of any spells, so the size was limited but it would mean that a ricocheting spell wouldn’t hurt someone.

The door was wedged up haphazardly, hinges blown.

“Hello!” Merlin called, “James? Sirius? It’s us, Merlin and Arthur.”

Silence answered his question.

Merlin turned back to Arthur.

He gestured with his head to the house.

 _Go in?_ was the silent question.

Arthur nodded once.

Merlin turned back towards the door, holding the shield spell up with his left hand and summoning a new spell with his right. The pieces of the door which had been holding up their way began to dissolve like mist on a summer morning, revealing the house behind.

A bright light flung at Merlin’s shield.

“It’s us!” Merlin shouted, raising his shield to take the blow. The curse still made him lurch backwards with its force, which was something given that the spell was supposed to absorb most of the shock.

“You dare come in here!”

Another spell hit Merlin’s shield. This time, Merlin lent into the blow, taking it on the magical shield.

“It’s us!” Merlin shouted as the last of the door disappeared into smoke to reveal a bloodied James Potter standing behind in the remains of his home.

The look on James’ face said it all. He was looking to kill the tyrant that Merlin had scared off, and he was still protecting his home.

Merlin had seen that before, in Arthur, whenever it looked like they had been outnumbered. Arthur treated Camelot as his own personal home and anyone be dammed if they tried to attack it or the people within it.

“It’s us,” Merlin said, “Merlin and Arthur.”

Another spell battered Merlin’s shield.

“Nice try,” James growled, flinging another spell at Merlin, “this is the last time Voldemort, _leave now_.”

“It’s us,” Merlin said, holding up his hand to try and make James stop, “you came back in time, we met you in the past, with the Hydra.”

James lowered his wand just a bit. Merlin guessed that James must be at least a few years older than when they last met, but there was a haunted age in his eyes that was beyond mere years. A haunted look of someone who had known war.

“What?” James whispered.

“The hydra,” Merlin said, thoughts running frantic to think of anything that would stand out, that would convince James that they had travelled forward in time, “we defeated it, you, Lily, Sirius and Remus helped us escape. I mean, we helped each _other_ escape. And then Morgana attacked us, and tried to take over Camelot but someone you knew came back, he had been sent by Cassandra, he let us out of the prison-”

“Snape,” James growled, as if his intonation of the name would kill the man, “yes. I know.”

“We’re here,” Merlin said, gesturing to James’ wand which was still pointed at Merlin, “look, we’ve been sent by Cassandra, your friend is in danger, which means we are _all_ in danger.”

“He is no friend of mine,” James hissed, lowering his wand “I don’t care if the man dies where he stands. He deserves to, after what he’s done.”

“Look, I get it,” Merlin said firmly, “I really do, but we need to talk. Now. Can we do that?”

James looked at Merlin, and then to Arthur behind him, and lowered his wand.

Faintly, Merlin could hear a child whimpering upstairs.

 _Oh gods,_ he thought, _they have a child. That tyrant was attacking them when they have a child._

“Yes,” James said, sounding defeated as he looked up the stairs towards the sound of the child, “but first we need to be safe.

x-x-x

James tried not to think about the destruction that was around him as he made his way up the broken staircase to Harry’s bedroom.

The pictures were ruined, the antique cabinet from his parents was _destroyed_. The paint had gouges in it where Voldemort’s curses had struck the wall. There was a smell of burnt wood that lingered in the air along with the flecks of dust that were drifting lazily through the flickering hallway light.

 _He is going to pay_ , James thought. He wasn’t sure if it was Voldemort or Peter that he was referring to. They both deserved to be punished.

He dodged his way around the broken balustrades that littered the hallway carpet, glass from the picture frames crunching under foot as he did so. Harry’s room was at the end of the hallway, away from the noise of the house, the smallest room out of the three for his nursery.

“Lily,” James called out, conscious of how loud his voice sounded against the silence in the house, “it’s me. It’s safe.”

James reached forward slowly and turned the handle to Harry’s room.

“It’s me,” he said, opening the door to find Lily standing with her wand straight out at him.

“He’s gone?” Lily croaked, cradling Harry against her shoulder. James nodded as he stepped into the room and pulled Lily and Harry close to him. Lily cried into James shoulder, slumping her weight against him, as James carefully took Harry from her shoulder and cradled him against his own. Harry gurgled, before letting out an ear-splitting wail as he caught onto Lily’s cries.

James held Harry close to his shoulder, bopping him up and down slightly as he wrapped his free arm around Lily to hold her close.

His family. _Their family._ When their marriage vows said they would stand by each other no matter what the world threw at them, they never expected _this_.

But they had survived it. They had survived Voldemort.

“We’ve survived,” James whispered as he pressed a kiss into Lily’s hair, “we survived.”

Lily caught her breath, looking up at James.

“How?” she asked. Her eyes were still full of relieved tears. It made James’ heart ache with pain to see Lily suffering so much.

“That’s the next bit,” James said, a small smile appearing on his face, “Merlin and Arthur are here from the past.”

Lily looked at James with disbelief.

“No,” she whispered.

“Yes,” James said, “and no one can get to us now, not again.”

“How can you say that?” Lily asked.

James smiled.

“We’ve got backup.”

x-x-x

 “Is there anything we can do?” Arthur asked, nudging one of the pieces of cabinet with his foot.

Merlin frowned. He knew enough spells to tidy or organise, but this house looked like a fight had broken out in it. There was only so much he could do, the rest would have to be done by hand.

“Some,” Merlin nodded to the stairs, “I mean, I can _mend_ them, but it won’t be able to fix the rug carpet.”

“Lets go with serviceable,” Arthur said, sheathing his sword and picking up a picture from the floor, “then we can work on making it look like it was.”

Merlin nodded, holding his hand up towards the broken stairwell. He felt his magic swell inside him as he encouraged the splintered pieces of wood back into their original home, using his magic to knit the wood into its original form. He could feel the pain lying in the objects – magic spells always had a way of leaving a trace, especially when used for evil. It was like a bitter taste, one that he couldn’t get rid of but one that wouldn’t make him sick.

Uncomfortable. Whoever had attacked James and his family was something evil.

The stairs knitted back together again as Merlin moved his other hand towards the broken cabinet. The pieces of wood began to fly back together, slightly damaged but at least they weren’t spread all over the floor.

“It’s not even explainable,” Arthur said, as he placed the photo on top of the newly mended cabinet, “they’re a family, who would attack them?”

A noise came from the top of the stairs. James and Lily stood at the top, Lily holding a baby in her arms. They stared in shock at the stairs, just as Merlin moved his hand to fix the door properly back on its hinges.

“Merlin?” Lily said, “Arthur?”

Merlin smiled.

“Hi,” he said, smiling “long time no see?”

Arthur elbowed him.

“This is what you meant by backup?” Lily said, looking at James as she tentatively walked down the newly mended stairs with the baby, “that’s some backup.”

“I think we need to catch up to fill in the gaps,” Arthur said, gesturing to the kitchen, “shall we sit?”

Merlin smiled. Arthur was good at reading people, and anyone could see how shaken Lily and James were.

James nodded, glancing at the door again.

“What if they come back?” he asked.

“I’ve got something in mind,” Merlin said, looking at the door. It was _something,_ but he wasn’t sure if it would work.

 _Not that I have much choice,_ he thought, looking at Arthur as he asked questions about Lily and James’ son, trying to distract them.

It had to work. There was no other choice.

x-x-x

Peter Pettigrew lay on the road, slipping in and out of consciousness.

He was aware of the Dark Lord talking to Snape, he could hear talking but he couldn’t make out the words. His brain could barely process the rain hitting his back, let alone phonetics.

He had never felt so scared in his entire life. Even admitting the location of James and Lily to the Dark Lord hadn’t scared him this much.

Whilst he had that information, he was safe. The Dark Lord wouldn’t hurt him as much, and that way he survived.

But now, there was no guarantee. The Dark Lord had never been this irate, and even the few thoughts that Peter could piece together across his addled mind knew that he was vulnerable now.

He turned onto his side, his vision blurry and head pounding.

A face appeared in his vision, a woman’s face with sharp green hair that seemed to _move_.

 _Is that a snake?_ Peter thought, trying to focus on the woman’s hair.

“Hello, Peter Pettigrew,” the woman said.

Her voice cut clearly through Peter’s pain, making his growl in agony. She had to be using some kind of magic, he could barely see, he could barely _think_ and yet her voice was a clear as day inside his mind.

“I need you to do something for me,” the woman said. Peter felt something grab his chin, pulling his face up so he had to stare into her lime green eyes.

She was close enough that Peter could feel her hair against his forehead. Even in the rain, even with his bruises, even with his _pain_ , he could feel the smoothness of scales sliding across his forehead.

He spluttered, trying to move himself. He could just see the Dark Lord and Snape talking at the edge of his vision, the two figures hadn’t moved towards him.

Clearly, no one else could see the woman apart from him. And someone who could fool the Dark Lord was someone to be terrified of indeed.

“I need you to go to a place called Little Hangleton,” the woman said, “I need you to find a ring, don’t touch it, don’t take it for your own, I just need you to bring it back to me.”

“But-” Peter stuttered

“Don’t worry about Tom,” the woman said, “I need you to this for me. Can you do that?”

Her voice left no room for negotiation. Anyone who called the Dark Lord by his first name was someone you did _not_ negotiate with.

“Can you do this for me?” the woman asked.

Peter nodded, mute with terror.

“Good,” the woman said, brushing Peter’s forehead with an almost mother like caress, “thank you for helping me Peter.”

The last thing Peter felt was the force of the woman’s hand smashing his face into the pavement, knocking him unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it takes two things to be able to write: time and energy. 2018 hasn't been kind to either of those - whenever I've had time, I've had no energy, or whenever I've had energy I've had no time. Most of this chapter ended up being a few hundred words written at a time, over snatches of weekends or evenings.
> 
> So even though it does take me ages to update (sorry!), know I'm still beavering away in the background!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy the newest chapter!

Sirius kicked his motorbike down from the sky, plummeting it towards the earth.

The air whipped around his face, tugging at his scarf and coat and making the bike shudder with the force. Even with the extra magical spells protecting it, what he was doing was pushing the bike to the edge of its limits.

But he didn’t care. His friends were in danger. That was all that mattered.

The bike plummeted low into the park, before Sirius pulled it up sharply and skidded the bike to a juddering halt on the grass.

Sirius flung himself off the bike as it skidded to a halt, flicking a camouflage spell so it would blend in with the nearby bushes. Rain hammered around him as he sprinted across the park to where James and Lily’s house was.

 _How could they have been found?_ Sirius thought, breathing heavily as he ran. He knew the answer, he didn’t want to _accept_ the answer.

 _Peter_.

If he ever met Peter again it was not going to end well. There was nothing that anyone could say that would stop him cursing the bastard into oblivion. He had broken their trust, he had put _Harry_ in danger.

All because he was a cowardly bastard.

He hit the road, turning sharply to run down the street towards James and Lily’s house. Even from here, he could tell something was wrong. There was bits of curse-marks scorched into the street, some of the nearby houses had marks in the bricks.

And the _smell._ There was the smell of burnt wood, and a heavy stink of evil that hung in the air so strongly it almost made Sirius gag. They had never had thought that when they had Animagus powers that some of the abilities would leech through into their human form. Something to do with spending far too much time in that form running around after Remus as a werewolf during a mis-spent youth.

 _Curse that_ , Sirius thought, as he skidded to a halt in front of James and Lily’s house.

His heart dropped.

It looked like a bomb had been dropped on it. The picket fence around the front of the house was smashed, gate hanging off its hinges, ground kicked up by Merlin knows how many spell hits.

But the most worrying thing was he could _see_ it. There was no fidelius charm in place.

Nothing.

 _Please don’t let me be too late,_ Sirius thought, as he approached the house slowly. He couldn’t _hear_ the sounds of fighting inside, but he could hear people talking.

 _Please don’t let me be too late_ , he thought, reaching the door. It looked like it _had_ been broken and hastily mended together by someone.

 _I’m going to kill you myself, Peter_ , Sirius thought, reaching for the door handle-

The door opened.

Sirius reflexively shot a spell towards the person behind the door. However, the other person was faster, throwing up a shield in time to deflect Sirius’ second shot-

 _Wait_ , Sirius thought, as he recognised the scrawny, slight man that was standing behind the door. Who was dressed in what could only described as medieval court attire. Who was _very much not supposed to be here in the present day._

Merlin.

“Wha.. Who? What?” Sirius stuttered, holding his wand up.

“Don’t curse me!” Merlin said, “it’s me, they’re safe.”

“PADFOOT?” a voice yelled form inside the house, as the door was yanked open and James dove out from behind it to envelope Sirius in a hug.

“What?” Sirius said, as he hugged James back, holding his friend’s shoulders and shaking him, “ _are you okay? Is Lily-_ ”

“She’s fine, we’re fine,” James said, nodding towards Merlin, “thanks to a bit of added help.”

Sirius looked at Merlin, and then back at James.

“Is he dead?” he asked.

“Who?” James said.

“Voldemort?” Sirius said, “with _Merlin_ he would have been fried-”

“He got away,” Merlin filled in, clearly frustrated with that fact, “we need to make the house secure, then work out what we need to do next.”

“Safe?” Sirius spluttered, “this house was protected by the _fidelius charm_ and he still found you! It’s not safe-”

“Merlin assures me he has one better than the fidelius charm,” James said, eyes darkening with rage “and this time, there is no weak spot.”

“I am going to kill, Peter,” Sirius growled, shaking with anger, “he put you in _danger_. The cowardly bastard deserves to pay-”

“We can discuss revenge in a minute,” Merlin said, stepping aside and gesturing inside, “come in, before I cast the spell.”

“The motorbike?” James asked Sirius.

Sirius smiled. James would like this particular trick.

“Summoning spell,” he said, flicking his wand in the direction of the motorbike and muttering _sequere viam tuam_ under his breath.

In the distance, Sirius could hear the roar of a motorbike come to life. He smiled to James as the noise became louder, before the trundling noise of a motorbike came up the road, following Sirius’ path that he had run.

 _“Nice_ ,” James said.

“Thought you’d like it,” Sirius said, as the motorbike turned into the gate, crunching over the broken fence and trundling to a stop at Sirius’ feet.

Sirius tapped his wand on the top of where the motorbike’s handlebars should be to remove the camouflage spell, and then once again to turn the bike off.

“I don’t even what that _is_ ,” Merlin said, sounding shaken.

“This,” Sirius said, pointing to the bike, “is my pride and joy. And our way of getting out of here if anyone tries to stop us _apparating_ out of here.”

“Okay,” Merlin said, stepping out of the house, still looking distrustfully at the bike, “now inside both of you, _now_.”

Sirius smiled, patting Merlin on the shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, seriously, “I’m glad you stopped _him_.”

Merlin looked at Sirius dead in the eye. There was a sadness behind his young eyes, something that Sirius recognised in his own. Merlin was not much older than when they had first met, even though Sirius was a few years older, but there was a gravitas about the man that just _told_ you how much power he could wield.

“No problem,” Merlin said, turning to the garden, “now go inside. I might be a while.”

x-x-x

The rain was strong enough to almost wash Wormtail away. It hammered down around him as he dashed through the undergrowth, keeping to the gutters and shadows to stay out of sight. Even under the cover of the bushes, the rain still hit him hard, big fat drops slamming into his body.

Wormtail did not think of the consequences of his actions, or the reasons for doing them. Being a rat was far simpler, his _brain_ was far simpler, only able to process simpler thought structures even though he was an animagus. Sure, he wouldn’t have the same life expectancy or the same wild instincts as a true rat, but it was close enough.

Enough to give him some comfort.

His feet scrabbled over the gravel that had fallen into the gutter of the road, dodging the water which was starting to build into a stronger stream the longer the rain fell. He could feel the magic, even in his animagus form, coming from the ruins of the house at the end of the road.

 _Somewhere round here_ , Wormtail thought, sniffing the air.

With a thought he turned into his human form.

Peter shivered against the rain, flicking a small shield above him to try and keep the worst of the rain off. His clothes were already soaked – it was a shame that the magic that allowed him to transform into a rat did not allow him to keep his clothes dry. Not that it mattered, the cold was a refreshment against the fear that thrummed away inside his mind.

Pettigrew flicked his wand again.

 _“Lumos,”_ he muttered, and a small ball of light appeared at the end of his wand.

The road was deserted, as expected. Little Hangleton was a village almost in ruin, the few remaining residents that still lived here had all moved to the centre of the village, where there was safety in numbers.

Here, on a deserted gravel track at the back of one of the farms on the edges of the field, he was alone.

 _Don’t touch it_ , Medusa’s words ran through Pettigrew’s mind, _just bring it to me_.

He could almost feel the slime of the snakes against his face, the sheer evil in Medusa’s eyes. And he was _sure_ it was Medusa, there was enough literature about the fabled creature in history that it simply _had_ to be her.

In any event, he had to do as she said. Anyone who ordered Voldemort around like a small boy was not someone to cross.

He made his way up the road, at the end of which sat a dilapidated house. The roof had fallen in a  number of places, the windows had been smashed, and the gate was hanging off it’s hinges.

Peter forced himself to stay calm as he reached the gate. He had to do this, there was _no choice_.

He tried to ignore the voice in his head that wondered how Lily and James had survived. That somehow they had defeated Voldemort.

 _Maybe, they’ll forgive me?_ He thought, reaching out to the gate and pushing it open. The hinges squealed like a dying animal, splitting through the sound of the rain and making Peter wince.

He paused, waiting for movement within the house.

There was none.

Peter took a few steps into the grounds of the house, waiting for a curse or some protection spell to go off, killing him instantly-

Nothing happened.

He let the gate swing closed behind him.

Pain suddenly encased Pettigrew from head to toe.

He fell to the floor, his knees sinking into the muddy path as he pulled his head close to his chest, holding his left wrist as if to stop the pain that was emanating from his Mark. It felt like he was being branded, his skin felt raw and began to blister.

“Please,” Pettigrew rasped, his breathing short and quick, “make it stop.”

He tried to draw back his cloak, to reveal his arm to the cooling rain. However, he screamed in agony when the first droplet touched his Mark, the water hissing as it evaporated on touch. He quickly pulled his cloak back down again, holding it tight against his body.

The pain began to disappear, slowly shrinking back, until it was only his hand that hurt so much he couldn’t use it properly. Pettigrew held his wand shakily out in front of him, summoning a light to guide his way down the muddy path towards the ruins.

He had to watch his footing as the mud sunk down underneath his weight, the ruins became clearer as he got closer to them. Pettigrew could just about make out the outline of half a window, the frame shattered and splintered, the bricks weathered by time.

 _Somewhere around here_ , Pettigrew repeated in his mind, _Somewhere around here she said._

Stepping over the rubble, Pettigrew went around where the door still stood, through a low hole in the knocked down wall. He watched where his footing went, trying not to trip up on the rubbles that was strewn in the mud.

He was standing in what would have once been the entrance hallway to the house, now only marked out by two low lines of bricks either side of the door. As Pettigrew stepped through the muddy earth, he could see bits of china and wood stuck in the mud, left from the time the house had been blown up.

 _There_.

Pettigrew’s light glanced off a shiny, small surface that lay on the ground, right in the centre of the ruins. As he peered closer, Pettigrew noticed that the rain did not touch that bit of ground, instead vaporising on contact with it, which causing a column of steam to rise high into the air.

He continued with caution, his arms still burning. The pain increased with every step he took closer to the little shiny object in the centre of the ruins. His heart was beating frantically, hand gripping his wand tight in front of him. He was daring to steal from the Dark Lord himself, something that no wizard had ever dared to attempt.

 _Do not fail me_.

Medusa’s words spun around Pettigrew’s mind, forcing him to push past the pain searing through his arm, and keep taking another step forward. He would much prefer the pain he was experiencing now, instead of the consequences if he failed his mission.

He had to use his left arm to fish inside his pocket for the handkerchief that lay in there. Every flex of his muscle shot pain straight up to his head, causing him to stumble in the thick mud as his balance was skewed by pain. Pettigrew grimaced, setting his face in determination, as his fingers slowly closed around the handkerchief, drawing it out into the rain.

 _Do not fail me_.

Pettigrew took another staggering step forward, mud now encasing his shoes completely, sucking them down into the ground. He edged closer towards the column of rising steam, feeling the heat of the rising vapour on his skin. His wandlight outlined the small shiny object that lay in the centre, a ring.

_Do not fail me._

Pettigrew’s eyes begun to water as the thought of what he had to do filled him with dread. Steam was hotter than water, and so caused burns far greater than boiling water poured on skin. He would have to put his already painful hand straight into the column and get the ring.

 _Do not fail me_.

He didn’t want to think, instead instinctively plunging his arm straight into the steam, his scream echoing off the ruins and into the night. The pain was excruciating, searing burning that ate away at his skin, his clothes no obstruction. Pettigrew felt his hand close around the ring, safely protected by the cloth, and pulled his hand back out of the steam again.

The rain continued to hammer down, as Pettigrew sunk to his knees. The column of steam began to pulsate, noticing that the object it was supposed to protect was no longer in its grasp.

Pettigrew pushed himself up again, turning away from the house. His hand was red raw, scold marks warped and twisted his skin, but yet he did not stop. He was sure the only reason he was still alive was because of the Dark Mark that was branded into his skin. The Dark Lord would have concentrated on keeping out his enemies from this secret spot, not his own followers. Or at least, that was what Medusa had told him.

Pettigrew shook his head to clear it, before checking up and down the road to see that no-one was coming as he apparated away.

x-x-x

“So what exactly is he doing?”

Sirius had his nosed pressed to the window as he watched Merlin work the spell that would protect their home. This time, there would be no opportunity for Voldemort to get to them.

 _We hope,_ she thought.

“I don’t know,” Arthur said, holding a gurgling Harry. Lily had been surprised how taken Arthur was to Harry. Not really the thing you expect form a living breathing King to sit in your tiny kitchen in all his regalia, holding your son.

“Something about a time bubble?” James said, as he walked up and down the kitchen scribbling furiously into the message book which was connected to Remus. It was frustrating how careful they had to be, she could have done with Remus’ calming presence now. But given the closeness of the full moon, it would be at least three days before Remus would be able to visit.

 _Still, at least he knows we’re safe,_ Lily thought as she watched James’ message disappear into the page of the book.

“It’s like the Fideleus Charm,” Lily said, flicking her wand at the kettle to boil another cup of tea, “the Fideleus Charm hides a location by making it hidden from this frame of existence, unless you know the password. Merlin’s doing something like that I think?”

“This time with no password,” Sirius grumbled, getting some mugs down from the shelf and pouring yet another cup of tea. Sirius would have preferred firewhiskey, but with Harry still awake at this hour, with them _all_ still awake, alcohol was a no-go. They had to be on high alert, in case Voldemort came back.

“I don’t profess to understand it,” Arthur said, bouncing Harry on his knee, “but it’ll keep you safe. For now.”

“That’s all we need,” Lily said. Harry began to wave his arms, screwing up his face before letting out an ear splitting wail.

“Sorry?” Arthur said, as Lily scooped Harry up and held him close to her shoulder “does he not like that?”

“He’s just tired,” Lily said, patting Harry on the back, and rocking him gently, “and he can pick up on our stress.”

A flash of light came through the window. Merlin turned round, giving them a thumbs up.

“I assume he’s done it,” Arthur said, standing up and almost hitting his head on the low ceiling, “I’ll let him in. Then we can decide what we need to do next.”

Arthur stepped out of the kitchen as James began to hunt through the fridge to find what he could cook. The man was driven by food more than anything else.

Lily heard the door slam shut, as Merlin came in drenched to the bone.

“Done,” he said, grinning at them, “from the street the house looks deserted, but not blown to smithereens. Enough to deter people from entering, but not enough to draw suspicion. It was the best I could do for now.”

“That’ll be fine,” Lily said, rocking Harry backwards and forwards, “we’ll work out what we do.”

“Omlettes?” James asked, holding up a box of eggs. Sirius’ face split into a grin, the damn man would do anything for an omlette.

“What is an,” Arthur asked, curiously looking at the box, “an omlette?”

“Egg pancake,” Sirius said, “James makes the best.”

“What’s a pancake?” Merlin asked.

“Oh man,” Sirius said, “you are _missing out_.”

“We’ll try them anyway,” Merlin said, sitting down at the table and laying on his forearms, “I’m knackered.”

 “Awesome,” James said, putting the box of eggs on the side and then rummaging through the fridge for more ingredients. One of the benefits of having a muggle background was Lily’s insistence that they use some kind of muggle technologies, including fridges instead of the magically enchanted larder.

Well, they still _had_ the magically enchanted larder, but a fridge was just more convenient for simple things than having to walk down into the larder.

“Omelettes coming up,” James said, digging around in a cupboard for a bowl to mix up the omelettes in.

“Thanks,” Merlin said, sighing into his hands.

“You alright?” Sirius asked.

“Yes,” Merlin said, “just tired. The spell is very complex, and trying to do it in the future, it seems, _harder_.”

“Harder?” Lily asked.

“It’s disconnected,” Merlin said, “we’re not where we should be, forward in time.”

“Well how can you even be here?” James asked, as he whisked up the Omelettes, “if you shouldn’t be here? If the very fact you’re here makes your magic harder to use?”

“Not harder to use,” Merlin said, “it’s just, takes more energy out of me. Certainly to do the more complicated spells.”

“As for why we’re here,” Arthur chimed in, “we don’t know. Not for sure. She just turned up and said that we had to ensure we were saved in the _past_.”

“How?” Lily asked.

“Severus Snape,” Arthur said, “the man from the cells who saved us. Cassandra said Medusa had come to the future, to ensure that he would not come back and save you. So you would die in the past.”

“But why on earth would you use Snivellus to do that?” Sirius asked. Lily rolled her eyes. Normally she’d pick Sirius up on the childish name calling, but tonight all their emotions were high strung.

“The fact that Severus Snape let us out of the cells, meant we defeated Morgana. It meant that Medusa was defeated - her goal is one of chaos,” Merlin explained, “so she wanted to use Morgana to create that.”

“I thought she was Morgana’s creature?” James asked.

“Of a sorts,” Merlin said, “Cassandra and Medusa are like forces of nature, at war with each other and one another, one looking for order the other for chaos.”

“So we’re supposed to restore order?” Sirius asked, “By making sure Snape doesn’t die?”

“We’re making sure we all stay alive,” Arthur said, “without Snape, we have a higher chance of all dying in those cells.”

“So we have to save him,” Sirius groaned, “from something we can’t see.”

“We can see it,” Merlin said, “that man, the person who attacked you. I bet you Medusa is behind him.”

“ _Voldemort?_ ” James spluttered, butter hovering over the hot frying pan, “you think Medusa is behind _Voldemort?_ ”

“Medusa is powerful,” Arthur said, “she wants chaos. So in our time, she chose Morgana to do this. In your time, this person, what do you call him?”

 _“Voldemort_ ,” Sirius said, “evil bastard, he’s been out for Lily and James since the Prophecy.”

“Prophecy?” Merlin asked.

“He will be defeated,” James said, “by a baby born at the end of July. There were two babies born at the end of July, the Longbottom’s kid, and Harry.”

Lily pulled Harry closer to her. No one was getting to her child. Not even if they were Voldemort. She’d rather die than do that. Harry squirmed against her shoulder, he was getting restless.

“Okay,” she said, gently lowering Harry onto the floor, his little legs kicking furiously, “but take it slowly.”

Harry dropped out of her arms, grabbing onto the table leg. He stared up at Arthur with his wide blue eyes, gurgling happily.

“Mama,” he said, looking around at Lily.

“We’re safe,” Merlin said, “until people come looking. Do you have a somewhere else to go? If you have to?”

James flipped the omelette in the frying pan.

“We had a safe house,” James said, “somewhere to go. But it won’t be easy to get there.”

“Morning then,” Arthur said, “I want to try these omelette’s first. They smell delicious.”

“Always led by your stomach,” Merlin commented.

“Same with Sirius,” Lily said, watching as Harry slowly knelt on the floor and began skidding towards Arthur. He gurgled happily, grinning up at Arthur and then grinning up at Lily.

“Almost done with these,” James said, “you want yours before or after bedtime?”

“After,” Lily said, bending down and scooping up Harry.

“Right, Harry,” she said, looking at Harry’s eyes, “bedtime for you.”

His bottom lip wobbled.

“Uncle Sirius will do story time,” she said, looking over at Sirius seriously, “won’t he?”

Harry’s face lit up. He was a sucker for Sirius’ version of story time.

“Okay, squirt,” Sirius said standing up, “let’s go do story time with Mummy. Then I get to eat all of Daddy’s delicious omelettes.”

x-x-x

“You have done well.”

Pettigrew relaxed a little at those words, as he handed over the handkerchief containing the ring to Medusa. He was still wet and cold from the rain, although the warmth of the dimly lit room was slowly drying him out.

Medusa’s face was lit by the dim globe of light that hung in the centre of the room, her expression clearly being one of glee and delight. The snakes hissed as she turned the handkerchief over in her hand, her fingers feeling the shape of the object that was hidden in its centre.

Pettigrew shrunk back a little from Medusa. He was not able to get out of the room – he had heard the lock _click_ into place when he had entered. However, he _was_ able to shrink back behind one of the tall chairs seeking a hiding place in its shadow.

With a flick of her wrist, Medusa tossed the ring up into the air. It shimmered in the fractured light before hovering in the air, held in place by Medusa’s magic.

“Very interesting,” Medusa commented quietly to herself, gesturing with her hand and allowing the ring to spin slowly on its axis. Pettigrew watched in amazement as the gold ring began to lose its form, melting slowly and dripping onto the floor. The wood floorboards hissed when the hot metal touched them, but Medusa did not notice the sound.

The snakes on her head began to sway backwards and forwards as Medusa started to mutter a complex series of words under her breath, the rhythm of the words matching the spin of the red stone that hovered in mid air. The stone spun faster and faster, as Medusa spoke quicker. Red light was split all about the room, giving small snapshots of the room which it illuminated and Pettigrew slunk further behind the chair, scared of the ritual that was occurring in front of him.

Then Medusa stopped speaking.

The stone spun slower and slower, until it barely moved at all, only quivering very slightly from left to right. The snakes on Medusa’s head hissed quietly, shrinking back from the hovering stone as if they could anticipate what was about to happen.

A ghostly hand shot out of the stone, reaching towards Medusa.

Pettigrew gasped at the same time as Medusa, his hands gripping the leg of the chair tightly with fear. Medusa began to wave her arms rapidly, as if fending off an invisible attack from a horde of bees. The hand reached out further, blinding grabbing at the air, searching for the person that had awoken it.

“Not this time,” Medusa muttered, “your soul is mine, Tom.”

Medusa flicked her wrist, as a black web appeared from her hand, surrounding the red rotating stone and the ghostly hand that had appeared from it. The ghostly hand felt out around itself, and when it felt a barrier had been put around it, it thrashed violently like a dying animal. Smoke rose from the web where the ghostly hand touched it, blocking out Pettigrew’s vision in the dim light.

The black web began to shrink even further, forcing the hand back inside the stone. More smoke began to fill the room, Pettigrew could barely contain himself as he begun to cough and splutter. Medusa’s face was creased in concentration, her snakes barely even hissing as the ghostly hand was forced back into the red stone, until it could be seen no more through the smoke.

“Rise again,” Medusa whispered, “rise again.”

Pettigrew felt his eyes water as the smoke continued to thicken. The room was almost dark now, apart from a single pulsing light emitted from where the stone had been rotating.

 _Bang_.

The room shook as the smoke was suddenly sucked back into the room with such a force it shifted the chair that Pettigrew clung onto forward by a few inches. With his vision unimpaired, Pettigrew could see the stone clearer, now pulsating with a bright white light. He tried to stay focussed, but as the light grew brighter he had to look away, ducking behind his chair for safety.

 _Bang_.

The red stone clattered along the wooden floorboards, coming to a rest next to Pettigrew.

Very slowly, Pettigrew peeked past the corner of his chair, looking towards the spot where the stone had been hanging. To his surprise, he saw another woman standing in front of Medusa, who had knelt so closely to the floor that her nose was touching the floorboards.

Pettigrew didn’t dare breathe as he looked upon the woman whose mere presence had made Medusa fall to her knees. She had long black hair that curled and cascaded down the back of her deep purple dress. He saw a white hand, as white a snow, peeking out from within the long folds of the dress’ arms, the nails liquored with a deep red varnish.

“Why do you call me forth?” the new woman addressed Medusa, her voice sounding authoritative, almost like royalty.

“I require your assistance,” Medusa said, still not looking at the other woman, “with two men who only a sorceress as powerful as you could face, M’lady.”

“You seemed pretty certain the last time we talked that you could deal with any problems yourself,” the other woman said quickly, “but then neither you nor your father, nor your little _pet_ that I got for you managed to stop my brother and his little servant from escaping.”

“Which is why I have called you forth for help,” Medusa answered, her voice wavering, “so as not to make the same mistake again.”

“Death is very calming,” the other woman commented, “give me a good reason why I should not return.”

“We can thwart Cassandra’s plans,” Medusa replied, “her success demands the death of a certain individual, who if we keep alive cannot stop you from taking the throne in your time.”

The other woman paused for a moment, her body language suggesting to Pettigrew that she was thinking deeply.

“You suggest playing with Time itself,” the other woman said, “a plan with many holes, but a plan that could succeed.”

The woman suddenly turned away from Medusa, and faced Pettigrew, a smile forming on her lips.

“But before I will help you, I wish to know who this person is,” the woman said to Pettigrew.

“He is nobody,” Medusa replied immediately, “He knows nothing-”

“He doesn’t know who I am?” the other woman said, smirking, “well we shall have to have a little introduction shan’t we?”

The woman bent down, her face close to Pettigrew’s. Even in the dim light, she was close enough for Pettigrew to work out the detail on her face, her fierce eyes and her blood red lips.

“My name,” the woman said in a delighted whisper, causing Pettigrew to shiver involuntarily “is the Lady Morgana.”

x-x-x

 “Whose that?” Sirius asked, peering out of the curtains. The road was deadly silent, almost too quiet for a village that had seen magic on a scale that no muggle would be able to comprehend. Aside from the rain that was starting to slide down the windowpane, there was nothing out there.

 _What’s that?_ He thought, peering out of the window. There was something out there, a person, just on the other side of the road, paused by the bushes and looking around the street.

 _They’ll probably think it’s just fireworks,_ Sirius thought, pressing his face to the glass. He was sure there was someone out there, a figure barely illuminated by the street lights. It was walking past at quite a pace, going somewhere in a hurry.

He let the curtain fall closed again, turning to the room where Arthur and Merlin sat around the table, eating James’ rustled up dinner with James, and Lily. Harry had been put to bed hours before, it was probably too late to really eat food but given the events of the day, Sirius was hardly complaining.

“Come on, Sirius,” Lily said, gesturing to his plate, “please eat something.”

“You certainly haven’t lost your boss-yness for being hungry,” Sirius mumbled, swinging himself onto the chair and picking up his fork to eat something. His stomach growled angrily.

“It’s just,” Sirius sighed as he stabbed the ommlette angrily with his fork. The rain hammered angrily outside the window now.

“What?” James asked.

“The Order hasn’t contacted us,” Sirius said, “no one has come outside yet.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” James said, “even if we alerted the order that we’re still alive, they wouldn’t be able to apparate here instantly, there are too many protections on the village to do that. They’d have to portkey to the Greggings Hill over a mile away and then broom it over.”

“Yeh but they wouldn’t even do that,” Lily remarked, “not with the number of Muggles still up. They’re all celebrating Halloween.”

“I was going to ask about the orange vegetables,” Arthur said, pointing to the pumpkin in the corner of the room that James had transfigured from a teacup for Harry before he had gone to bed.

“It’s supposedly a celebration of all things spooky,” Sirius said, “apparently it came from pagan festivals that celebrated the dead, or the first day of winter or something like that.”

“We had something like that,” Merlin said, “it was called Calan Gaeaf. It was a celebration of the first day of winter. But it didn’t have these orange vegetables.”

“That’s a more recent addition,” Lily remarked, “it’s called a pumpkin.”

“Pumpkin,” Arthur said, trying to get his mouth around the strange word. James smiled, Lily laughed.

“Kinda,” James said, “you’ll get there.”

Sirius kept demolishing his omeletts. James’ omeletts were to die for they had been Sirius’ go to comfort food whenever he had visited the Potter’s residence. But even then, there was something that was niggling in the back of his mind.

 _Why would someone come here,_ Sirius thought, _in the rain and just walk past? Would they not see the ruin?_

After all, a few muggles _had_ walked past and it had taken Merlin all but three second to throw up a temporary illusion that the house was still standing. But any decent wizard would just have to walk through it and they’d see a house in ruin. That way, no one knew they were still here, just slightly out of time.

Sirius got up and went back to the window. He pulled back the curtain, peering outside again. The rain was now steadily falling from the sky now, and it was hard to make out anything out in the pathway.

But there was a figure, standing opposite the house. Just watching.

“Somethings not right,” Sirius said, pulling his wand out of his jacket. Arthur got up from his seat in an instant, followed by James and Merlin. Lily walked calmly over to the window and looked outside.

“What?” Lily asked.

“Someone is out there,” Sirius said, walking from the kitchen and into the hallway and casting a shield spell over his head. James followed him, tapping his wand on the door handle to unlock it.

The door swung open, and now the noise of the rain was almost deafening. It smacked into the ground in fat, heavy droplets. With that, along with the cold wind that blew the rain in gusts and swirls, it was not any weather to be standing outside in.

“Don’t go outside the boundary edge,” Merlin said as Sirius stepped outside and stalked across the garden. Apparently Merlin’s spell of protection allowed them to walk around the grounds of the house in safety, but beyond that they could be seen.

However, that didn’t mean Sirius couldn’t go right _up_ to the edge. Which he did so, hand gripping his wand furiously.

Across the road stood Severus Snape.

“Bastard,” Sirius shouted, turning around, “James, it’s _fucking Snivellus_.”

“What?” James shouted over the rain, as he stepped outside and walked up to the boundary, spotting to where Sirius pointed.

“That bastard,” Sirius said, “is standing outside your house a few hours after Voldemort attacked. The person that Cassandra wants us to save his arse. _Are you kidding me_.”

Sirius watched as James’ face fell into fury, the familiar sensation one had when looking at Serverus Snape.

“If he comes a step closer-” James said.

As if on cue, Snivallus Snape stepped into the road, walking across to the house.

“I could fucking _kill_ him,” Sirius growled as Snivellus strode across the road, rain sliding down his cloak and hair making him look even more gaunt and corpse-like than his normal look.

“You won’t get saved in our time,” Merlin said behind them, making them both jump. Merlin wore a serious, almost grandfatherly gaze which did not match his young face.

“Let him walk,” Merlin said, “watch.”

Snivellus walked up to the gate, the edge of the boundary of Merlin’s spell. This close, Sirius could see that Snivellus’ eyes were puffy and red.

The man had been _crying_. Sirius wasn’t even sure a corpse _could_ cry.

“If he steps in-” James said.

“Watch,” Merlin said, as Snivellus put his hand on the gate and pushed it open.

Sirius gaped in shock as Snivellus began to go translucent, with a hue of blue colour that looked like they were watching a poorly made muggle home video tape. Snivellus looked up, sobs emanating from him.

“Lily,” Snivellus choked out.

James growled.

“Don’t touch him,” Merlin said, “whilst he doesn’t interact with us, he stays in that timeline.”

“So we just have to _watch?”_ Sirius said, “couldn’t we just keep them out? Put up a barrier?”

“If there is a barrier, people will guess,” Merlin said, “in any event, this is only temporary whilst we work out what to do next. Maybe use that backup plan that James had to find somewhere else to hide for now. A barrier of that scale, in such a time, I couldn’t. I didn’t have the energy.”

Poor man sounded broken. Sirius gave him a pat on the shoulder. Merlin had tried. It wasn’t his fault Snivellus decided to turn up _now_. After all that had happened.

“And in the meantime,” James said, barley holding his rage in check, “we have to watch him just walk around our house?!”

“Yes,” Merlin sighed, signalling to Arthur to stand back as Snivellus got to the doorway and fell to his knees, howling with grief, “we just have to watch.”

“He’d better not be here for long,” Sirius said, walking right up behind Snivellus, “or I _will_ be interacting with him.”

“Get out of the way, Arthur,” Merlin said, “whilst we leave him be, he will just walk around the ‘ruin’ of the house. He won’t know we’re here.”

“Whose here?” Lily said, sticking her head around Arthur, and then down to Snivellus who was for want of a better word prostate on the front step, mumbling Lily’s name repeatedly.

“Get him out,” Lily said, as Snivellus began to wail even louder. Sirius glared at Merlin.

“We can’t,” he said, “if we don’t touch him, he doesn’t know we’re here. He just sees the illusion Merlin left up.”

“A broken, but empty house,” Merlin said, “it looks like you had an attack, but not so bad that the entire house was destroyed. Enough for the muggles, as you call them, to ignore.”

Lily looked down at Snivellus with a look of intense disgust that Sirius had ever seen her show. Whilst Sirius hated the man to his core, Lily had more of a complicated relationship with Snivellus. A childhood friend who had gone the wrong route, someone she had started Hogwarts with and watched disappear down the track of Voldemort’s followers. A broken, dangerous, sad man.

 _Like Peter_ , Sirius thought. He still couldn’t quite believe it. Little Peter, the one who had made their group a four. Not quite the same as the rest of them, but an oddball like them all. Quiet, not the smartest, but charismatic and brave all the same.

Snivellus wiped his hand on the back of his already drenched cloak and stood up. Arthur directed Lily back into the kitchen as Snivellus grabbed an invisible doorhandle and pulled it open.

“He better not be in there for long,” James muttered.

Snivellus stepped into the house. He didn’t leave wet footprints on the carpet, it was as if he was a blue ghost interacting with the world beyond the grave.

“We need to plan your escape,” Merlin said, “this spell might hold but Severus will not be the first to come. Your real house will be safe here, and you will be safer somewhere else.”

Sirius grumbled as James followed Snivellus into the house. James and Sirius _did_ leave wet puddles on the doormat, soaked through to the bone. Sirius did not take his eyes off Snivellus as he made his way towards the stairs, still sobbing.

 _What a drama queen_ , Sirius thought, as he pointed his wand at himself and muttered a drying spell under his breath.

“Harry,” Lily gasped, going for the stairs. However, Snivellus got there first, making Lily stop at the bottom of the stairs as Snivellus began to climb them.

“If he touches Harry,” Sirius said, “he’s going to find out we’re here.”

“He might not go for the nursery,” Merlin said, sounding noticeably worried.

“But if he does,” Sirius said.

“If he does then we pull him into this timeframe,” Merlin said, “he’ll know we’re here, but we will just have to handle it. This Severus seems, more volatile than the man we met in the cells back in Camelot.”

“That’s cos he’s an evil bastard now,” Sirius said, following Lily up the stairs behind Snivellus, “and in Camelot he was an old evil bastard who was paid to save us.”

“Hardly paid,” Arthur said, “Cassandra used him. Whilst I might disagree with her methods, he did save our lives. And we need him to _stay alive_ and not _hate our guts_ so he can do that.”

“I don’t care,” Lily grolwed, stopping behind Snivellus as he paused on the small landing, “he in my house. He follows Voldemort. And he is currently standing between me and my _son_.”

Snivellus turned right, towards the nursery.

Sirius leapt up the final two stairs towards Snivellus, but Lily beat him to it. James sprinted for the stairs, taking them too at a time. Merlin’s hands began to glow as he summoned magic.

Lily all but grabbed Snivellus’ shoulder, pull him backwards away from the door. He stumbled, and Lily dove for the space in front of Snivellus, scrambling to her feet and pulling her wand out.

The effect on Snivellus was almost instantaneous. One moment he was a translucent blue ghost drifting through the room, and now he was _here_. Solidified. Wet. Confused.

“What?” Snivellus said, looking around in confusion, “where. What did you do? Where did you come from.”

“Get out of my house,” Lily growled.

Snivellus began to cry again. Sirius rolled his eyes.

“You’re alive,” Snivellus said, stepping towards Lily. James shouldered past Sirius and put his hand firmly on Snivellus’ shoulder as Lily raised her wand to cast a curse at Snivellus’ head.

“Get out,” James said, “now.”

“Potter?” Snivellus said, turning around to face James, “you’re here too?”

“My house, asshole,” James said, drawing his wand and pointing it at Snivellus’ head, “get out of it.”

“The Dark Lord,” Snivellus muttered.

“Tried to murder us,” Lily said, “and you helped him. Get out before I blast you out, Severus.”

Severus looked back at Lily.

“Lily,” he pleaded. Sirius rolled his eyes again. James growled and pushed wand further into Snivellus’ head.

If he didn’t do something, the Potters were going to blast Snivellus through the ceiling. Which as amusing as the idea might be, Sirius had to admit that they needed to have a plan.

 _And having Voldemort’s right hand man here to interrorgate would help_ , Sirius thought. And it meant that if they interrogated him, Snivellus was still alive. Which meant that they didn’t die in the past.

He swapped his wand to his left hand, grabbed the clock that was sitting on the mantlepiece side and proceeded to smash it over Snivellus’ head.

Snivellus crumped to the floor, unconscious.

“That was my _mother’s_ ,” James said, looking at the remains of the clock in Sirius’ hand.

“I hated it anyway,” Lily remarked, wand still pointing at Snivellus, “now what are we going to do with him?”

All three of them looked down to Merlin and Arthur, who were looking up at them with shock on their faces. Clearly they had not expected quite such a violent response to Snivellus walking into the house.

 _That’s what war does to you,_ Sirius thought.

“Any idea how to hold a prisoner?” Sirius asked, “cos we’ve now got Voldemort’s right hand man to interrogate.”


End file.
